


Ash and Torment

by firelord65



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drowning, F/M, Kidnapping AU, Zutara Week 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/pseuds/firelord65
Summary: Captured by the Fire Nation and ripped from her family at a young age, Katara bides her time in a world of her enemies. Will she be able to survive on her own or will she be chipped away by the constant harassment of the crown princess?





	1. A Selfish Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of my fic for Zutara Week 2017. I decided pretty much last minute that I wanted to take one of my concepts for one of the prompts and bring it in to all of the prompts. Thus, this entire fic will consist of seven chapters, one for each of the prompts this week. 
> 
> Please consider this fic to be its own self-contained AU still within the A:TLA universe but not following the canon timeline that we all know. I have yet to decide how, when, or if Aang will be awoken in this timeline due to circumstances that should be apparent as soon as the story begins. 
> 
> Cheers, and happy ZK week to us all!
> 
> \----
> 
> Day 1 prompt: Fire Lady

“Why do you care for that blue-eyed brat anyhow?” Katara swallowed her pride and focused on the metal panels beneath her boots. She was sweating in them, here in the depths of the Fire Nation war machine. They were all she had left of her own culture’s attire. Her parka and heavy woolen clothing had been exchanged for lightweight cotton pants and tunic.

It wasn’t her decision what she wore. The boots remained because no one on the ship had shoes in the same size as the young girl. No one willing to part with a pair, that is. Katara had stolen glances at the other girl on board, the one with hair as dark as the night and a cruel glint in her eyes. Fire Princess, Katara heard her referred to as. No one would expect the young noble to give up her wardrobe for a captive.

Katara stayed out of the way, a curiosity for her captors to ogle at and then forget about. Someone to be spoken about but never to. “All she does is _stare_ at the soldiers. Does she speak?” The ship’s captain, a broad-shouldered man who towered over every other man and woman on board, stepped into Katara’s view. He gripped her chin and twisted her eyes to meet his.

“Well then, whelp? Can you speak?” he demanded. She only glared in response, her hands shaking. They’d taken everything from her and still they wanted more. They wanted her words, her obedience in every request.

The nobles and high-ranking soldiers at the table laughed at her insolence and jeered at the captain for expecting the “uncivilized brat” to respond. Katara bared her teeth in a snarl as only an eight-year-old could, completely indignant even surrounded by her enemies.

“Enough.” The voice of reason ended the mockery. No one dared to countermand the noblewoman’s orders. She sat at the head of the table, the current representative of the Fire Nation’s monarch. Katara jerked her head out of the captain’s grip and savored her victory. Her silence remained unbroken. “Come here, girl,” the woman said firmly.

Katara left the wall and stood stiffly next to her. “Sit and eat,” the woman ordered. “And if you do not eat then at least stop glaring at Captain Zhao. You aren’t to cause any more trouble. Is that understood?”

Nodding mutely, Katara sat herself down. Her stomach growled as she directed her furious glare to the platter in front of her. No matter the kindness shown by the lady to her left, she knew it was a falsehood, a lie. She would not eat the delicate fruit, the glazed meats, the puffed pastries. A joke went about the table that she did not know how to eat anything that hadn’t swum in the ocean.

Her feet sweated in her boots as fire flared on her cheeks. She would survive this.

* * *

After the feast, Katara was sent back to the bunk room that was her prison. It had been covered with draped scarves and delicately embroidered cushions to disguise the functionality with finery. Katara didn’t have to be an adult to see through the illusion. It was a cell.

How she would have preferred to be down in the belly of the other ships, where she’d seen the others of her tribe taken to. Yelling, crying, pleading with the soldiers in the snow had done her no good. They were confused at first as to what to do with a child captive. Keeping her with the adult benders was a courtesy that they were unwilling to give. In years to come, Katara would realize she had tricked fate and escaped the labor camps. Her path had been decided for her by a tall, dark haired noble woman.

She had stepped out from the belly of the flagship surrounded by her own private guard. The sight turning Katara’s stomach as she watched the woman glide past fallen Water Tribe warriors without a second glance. Stopping by the soldier who had bound Katara’s wrists, the woman spoke at Katara. “Do you wish to live, child?”

Terrified and distraught, Katara nodded. She had hoped to be allowed to remain with the others. “Then you will come with me and be a ward of the royal family,” the Fire Lady insisted. She took a knife offered by one of her guards and cut the rope binding Katara’s hands. It was then that Katara became a symbol of the Fire Lord’s finished conquest over the South Pole.

Katara didn’t want to think about the fate of her tribe. She missed her brother, left behind at the Pole as a non-bender and disregarded as a threat to her new, adopted Nation. She wasn’t even told if her parents had survived the raid.

Katara threw herself onto her bed, curling into herself. She couldn’t bear to think about the land she’d left behind. Even still, her fingers brushed over the stubby texture of her boots, fingernails stabbing into the rough suede as she felt anger once again overtake her sadness. The tears that had spilled onto her red cheeks had been accompanied by silent heaves.

“You didn’t eat anything,” a boy’s voice interrupted her emotional turmoil. Katara wriggled further into the corner of the bed. She didn’t need reminding that her stomach was empty. “I brought a plate.”

She didn’t need his charity, either.

Katara laid on the bed, counting her breaths until he gave up and left. They always did. No one could stand her silence.

The boy whispered, his words too quiet for Katara to hear. That was new. As was the gentle murmur in response. “Give her time,” the Fire Lady comforted her son. “Let’s sit on the cushions. Come on.”

Growling, Katara kicked off from the wall and rolled onto the floor, her booted feet hitting the deck plate with a _thunk._ She crouched low, drawing the pose from one of the “warrior’s drills” that her brother did daily with her father. Thinking of them made her grimace widen.

The boy froze, holding the tray of food in front of his face. His mother paused and tipped her head to the side. “You don’t want us to sit with you?” she asked.

Katara shook her head. It didn’t count as breaking her silence, according to her rules. The boy tried to balance the tray on one hand and gave up when it started to tip forward. “Mom,” he hissed, “why do we even want to make her feel welcome? She hates us.”

“That’s why it's important,” his mother replied. She took a small step forward. “Because she hates us. She has every right to, but still she is going to have to live with us.”

The boy edged behind his mother, but he, too, moved forward. “But she won’t even talk,” he mumbled.

Katara balled her hands up into fists, shuffling to stand in front of the cushions. It didn’t help. The harder she tried to send them away, the closer the Fire Lady and her son came. The woman knelt to be face to face with the small girl, unflinching even as Katara’s fists shook.

“If you want us to leave, you must say so,” the woman said. “Otherwise, we are going to sit there.” She pointed to the cushions behind Katara.

Screwing her face up, Katara fought back angry tears. Either way she was conceding something to the Fire Nation monarch. She wouldn’t actually hit the woman. There were soldiers, the Imperial Guard, outside her door who would surely hurt her in retaliation. Her desire for silence won out and she ceded the floor space to the pair of nobles.

“That’s better,” the woman said with a smile. “Now we can get to know one another properly. You may call me Lady Ursa. You’ve already met my son, Zuko.”

* * *

If the ship had been warm, the Fire Nation itself was a sweltering cesspool of humidity. Katara could sense the moisture all around her always. Relief was short, in the form of occasional rainstorms. More often than not, however, dark clouds in the sky only meant lightning storms devoid of actual rain. The very land around Katara was her torturer.

Retaining her silence became her only solace. Only once had she broken it. The Fire Lord demanded that she be brought before him; he had not gone with his family to the South Pole when Katara had been taken. The raid was not enough of a priority for him to leave the Palace. She knelt before him, listened to Captain Zhao tell of her tribe’s defeat, and ground her teeth stop herself from screaming her promise to kill him for thinking so low of her people.

The Fire Lord cared not for why his wife had shown mercy to the young waterbender. “The girl is young enough yet. She can live in my house and remain unbound as my dear wife has decided. I do not fear the effect of a single Water Tribe whelp in the seat of Fire Nation might. But she will not learn waterbending,” he drawled, intent on dismissing her and the Captain after his decision was made.

Katara had stood up at that, a visceral reaction to the declaration. “I am the last free waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe,” she snarled. “I am not a whelp. My name is Katara and I-”

The Fire Lord laughed at her words, his voice booming out from behind the fanning flames that scorched the air. “You are nothing, little one. You are Katara of the house Ozai now. And you will learn your place.” He had ignored her further outcries and sent her away without a second thought.

Katara resented her status initially. She was invisible to all who visited the palace. The crown prince and princess ignored her on the good days. On bad ones, the princess remembered that she existed and made it her mission to torment the young girl who was not her sister and yet bore the name of house Ozai.

“You should be dead.” Azula threw the words out over dinner one evening as easily as she commented on the weather. Her golden eyes glinted in the firelight of the sconces on the wall. Everything glinted in the Fire Nation, but it was all wrong. Gold and orange surrounded Katara where blue and white once had.

“I’m speaking to you, Icicle,” the princess taunted. Katara looked at the girl before flicking her eyes over to the empty head and foot of the table. Of course. They were only under the watch of the crown princess’s tutors this evening. Zuko had been allowed to take his dinner in his father’s study doing spirits knew what. It wasn’t as though Katara mattered enough to be told what the rest of her so-called family did.

Katara exhaled, a smirk twitching on her face. That only infuriated Azula further. “What, you think it’s funny?” she fumed. Azula had only just turned eight. Her temper flared easily and was untempered by her tutors who feared the wrath of the Fire Lord should they displease his darling daughter. “I bet you wish you were dead.”

A tip of the head and a furrow of her brow conveyed confusion, bewilderment even. Azula stood from her seat and leaned over the table. “ _I_ wish you were dead. We don’t need any _stupid waterbenders_ stinking up the palace,” she bellowed.

That was it. The yelling attracted the attention of the adults down the hall. Azula only got out a few more shouts about how Katara didn’t deserve to live before she was swept up in one curl of an arm. The one person who could tell Azula what to do dropped the young girl back onto her seat cushion.

“If you say that again, I will have your mouth washed out with soap. Do you hear me, young lady?” Lady Ursa scolded. Trailing behind his mother, a curious expression as always plastered across his face, Zuko merely watched the situation play out in front of him. He regarded Katara’s carefully blank expression and his sister’s red face with equal care.

Azula stormed out from the dinner hall, tears streaming down her face. Her shouts at the servants who got in her way echoed down the hallway into the room. Katara chewed on the inside of her lip to keep from laughing.

The Fire Lady turned her attention then to the inattentive tutors, spelling out once again how they shouldn’t let Azula do as she pleased without retribution. The object of the princess’s torment, however, was given no consideration. Katara took her pleasure where she could get it; it didn’t matter to her if the woman who had claimed her actually showed her genuine care.

Still, her eyes burned slightly as she watched the woman go through the motions to protect Katara without once looking at her directly. Katara shoved herself to her feet and slipped away to the inner garden. Footsteps echoed in the hall a half dozen steps behind, crunching on the dried grass when they reached the dying oasis.

“You goaded her,” the older boy stated simply. Katara picked her way down the winding path, hopping from stone to stone. Zuko didn’t get a pass on her rule of silence simply because he was taking this moment to actually speak to her like a human being.

He didn’t follow the path, stomping in a straight line to intersect with her. He touched her shoulder to get her attention. Katara whirled around, teeth bared in a grimace. “Sorry, sorry,” Zuko pleaded. He lifted his hands in the air to show that he wasn’t touching her.

Katara narrowed her eyes and huffed. Crossing her arms, she dropped down to sit by the edge of a dried-out pool. It was no longer the height of summer and yet the gardens were all like this, dry husks. Another torment to the stranded waterbender.

“You shouldn’t do that to her. Goad her, that is,” Zuko said. He sat down as well, crossing his legs. His knee almost brushed against hers. Katara huffed again, unimpressed by his threat.

He crossed his arms to mirror her. “I’m not saying she should talk like that to you. But if you keep annoying her, she’s going to get worse. And you’re not always gonna have my mom there to defend you,” Zuko insisted.

Katara raised an eyebrow and pointed to him. “What, me? What about me?” Zuko asked, incredulous. She continued to point at him repeatedly before sighing exasperatedly. Pantomiming two people walking with her fingers, Katara had one kick the other. She pointed in the direction of the dining room with the hand that had been kicked and the other at Zuko.

He watched, wide eyed. “I’m not gonna hurt Azula,” he whispered as though the very words might summon his sister there to beat him up for even thinking about it.

Sighing again, Katara shook her head. It wasn’t worth it to try and convey what she meant to Zuko. She should have known better than to expect anyone of the Fire Lord’s family to genuinely care about her. Katara turned away from him and stared at the empty pool in front of her. Counting in her head, she waited for him to leave. Yet again he disappointed her.

“What do you do all day?” he asked. “Azula hates you and you can’t be in lessons with her and her teachers the whole time. So, what do you do?”

Katara lifted a shoulder and dropped it back down. Most days she wandered the halls, utterly indistinguishable from any of the servant girls save for her darker skin and bright, blue eyes. In the six months that she’d been a prisoner here she had yet to find a comfortable routine or purpose. Zuko was correct in his assumptions - Azula didn’t want her to follow around the crown princess or her noble friends. That left a lot of free time in-between meals, where she was expected to sit and do nothing of note, and classes, where she did more of the same.

“Do you hate Azula back?” Zuko pressed. Katara barked out a single laugh. What kind of question was that? The nod she made was earnest and so clearly well earned. How could she _not_ hate the girl who reminded her that Katara was unwanted?

Zuko remained pensive, pulling up strands of dried grass. “Sometimes I think that I do, too,” he admitted quietly. “But she’s my sister and she’s family. So, I can’t really hate her. So maybe you should think like that, too.”

Katara lurched to her feet, the slow stoked fire of fury in her belly set alight at his innocent, oblivious suggestion. Everything was fire here. Fire and heat and misery. It was burning her up, consuming everything that she had been before she was _of house Ozai._

“You are not my family!” Katara yelled. “I hate your sister, I hate your father. I even hate your stupid mom, too.” Zuko was aghast, having fallen back onto his elbows in shock. He regarded Katara with fear and confusion, finally shocked from his all-too-curious demeanor.

“I never asked to be taken by her. I’d rather be dead, just like Azula says. Why didn’t they just kill me?” she sobbed. “I know you all killed my family and my tribe. Just kill me, too.” She was on her hands and knees, tears spilling out onto the earth below. The greedy soil sapped at the moisture, wicking it away and erasing the mark that Katara had been there.

Zuko continued to stare at her, his mouth clenched in a tight line. He watched as she cried her eyes out, chest heaving and fist slamming on the ground in front of her. She had to get it all out, the emotions that were destroying her from the inside out. The fire had to be extinguished.

The boy put a hand on her shoulder again and it hurt even more to feel that ounce of kindness. Katara sucked in a breath to try and steady herself once more only to let out another heaving sob. She should have been stronger than this. She had made it six months in this prison on her own.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko whispered. His hand twitched when another sob wracked through her, fearing that Katara was about to lash out.

She turned her face to look up at him. “Don’t ever tell me that I can’t hate you people. I _hate_ your mother for sentencing me to this and calling it a kindness,” she spat. Zuko recoiled, betrayal spelled out on his far too expressive face.

He apologized again, this time with earnest. Katara sat up onto her knees, prepared to shove him away as he opened his arms. Her venom was all spent, however, and she pressed herself into his embrace.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck here,” Zuko repeated, over and over until Katara wiped herself of all her rage and frustration.


	2. Hands Outstretched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So today’s contribution is a little bit late, but eh! Still not too bad. Thanks again for reading and I hope that you enjoy today’s chapter.
> 
> Prompt: Underwater

Avoiding talk of the war should have been difficult for Katara. Her status provided her the opportunity to happen across the whispered rumors and plots that ran rampant through visiting dignitaries and scullery maids alike. Yet she found no joy in listening to tales of Earth Kingdom villages resisting, fighting, dying to stem the unending onslaught of the navy.

So, she didn’t. When the topic arose, she would retreat to her room or, when escape was impossible, to a dark and quiet place in her mind. Meditation, she’d heard the royal tutors describe in snatches of conversations. It was used to clear the mind and calm the fury and rage which flowed in the hearts and veins of the firebenders around her. Breathe in, breathe out. Take in calm, cool air and exhale your frustrations. Katara sought to master the technique with her eyes still open.

It had taken her weeks to figure out the breathing, squinting at Azula from across the training grounds. She was easier to follow than Zuko. The instructor would correct Azula’s breathing a half-dozen times over her brother. The older boy was better at diving into that moment of peace and tranquility, something that Katara tried to emulate.

It was always a challenge to let go of the frustration and hurt. Katara bore a wound which refused to heal. Every cutting remark by Azula or pitying glance by Zuko opened it anew. How could Katara bear to let go of her anger when she was so painfully alone?

Beat by beat her heart would weaken its grip on her mind. Air would flow into her chest, soothing the smouldering anger. Katara held it there, acknowledged the healing force of the currents around her, and finally exhaled her white-hot rage.

A lightness took root in Katara’s chest. It elevated her from whatever feelings she was running away from. She could think in those moments - and those moments alone - of her time with her family. She could remember how much joy there had been in a blue and white world, hundreds of miles away from here. The snatches of past happiness tied her through the next year of continuous torment.

When she let go of her meditation and reentered awareness of the world around her, those memories returned to the ironclad vault of her mind to never be touched. Coming back to the red and gold painted halls of the palace sent a dull wave of hopelessness through her, numbing the light inside of her.

She was still trapped here, now going on ten years of age. Her time was split between historical and political lessons with Azula and Zuko and observing the duo in their physical training. No one had explicitly told Katara that she couldn’t also participate in the lessons which did not focus on firebending, however the young waterbender reasoned that actively learning combat skills would not be entertained by the Fire Lord.

So, Katara observed. She perfected her meditation techniques from a distance and watched in envy as Zuko and Azula were praised for their progress. After a year of taming the fury in her belly, Katara knew that she could have stepped in and easily impressed any one of their tutors with her ability to center herself. Not that she _wanted_ to be recognized for prowess in a decidedly Fire Nation skill. Such training had never been discussed by the waterbenders in her tribe.

Had she been home, this would have been the age where she would have begun working to cultivate her own raw bending talent into something more. The various practitioners of the craft worked together to help school burgeoning waterbenders, trading off lessons in their varying specialities. Meditation to quell fury and rage was not necessary for waterbending, even for those who focused on combat skills.

On this particular day, Azula was being taught how to draw fire with her feet rather than her palms. Zuko was working on sword skills, having recently been gifted a pair of matched blades by a visiting dignitary. It was the motion of his trainer, so fluid and graceful, that drew her attention.

Watching him move, his steps surefooted and even, Katara was filled with a sense of deja vu. This was not the first time that she had watched a master and mentee work through careful footwork and precise arm movements.

Katara opened her vault of memories a crack. There, she found flashes of her past self sitting quietly to watch the careful nuances of motion shown by waterbenders training. They shared the same fluidity on display in front of her.

For the first time since she’d been taken, Katara felt like she could reach out and touch her heritage. She was on her feet before the thought finished forming, jogging over the packed dirt to the swordmaster.

Zuko continued his movements, not seeming to notice when his sifu stopped to regard the blue-eyed girl. Katara rocked on her heels, considering just how badly she wanted to train with the swordsman. Putting up with Zuko, that wasn’t an issue. Though she’d returned to ignoring him the same as his other family members, there was a lingering connection between the pair. She tolerated his quirks of watching her, and he occasionally redirected Azula’s wrath from Katara onto a new topic.

No, what Katara realized standing in front of the cross-armed instructor was that she would have to _ask._ She would break her silence to ask for a favor, a privilege to be treated the same as one of the royal heirs.

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “You’re the waterbender,” the swordsman stated. It wasn’t a question. Of course he knew who she was. Everyone did.

Katara nodded. “The one who doesn’t speak,” he continued. “What is it that you could want?”

She took in his raised eyebrow, the way he looked down at her. Anger flared quickly to be tamped down. Katara was tired of being stared at for merely existing. If they considered her a spectacle, then let them have a reason for it.

“I want to train. With Zuko. I want to learn how to use blades,” she explained in a loud, clear voice. It felt _good_ to speak again. To demand something of the people who had asked so much of her. This was not a retort to Azula’s meaningless harassment or a furious outcry at an injustice. She had spoken for herself and herself alone.

And so it burned that much greater to watch the swordsman belt out a laugh and shake his head. “You don’t deserve to wield a sword,” he said. “Why do you think you’re banned from learning how to bend water? You are a viper in the nest. Why would we give you sharper fangs?”

* * *

Ignoring the war effort proved to be less effective than Katara had hoped. She could not will away the progress that the western front was making on the inner coastline of the Earth Kingdom. In fact, her self-inflicted ignorance led Katara to be blindsided by the news that, after a particularly successful victory, the royal family was to travel from the capital city on a victory tour.

Naturally, Katara was to come as well. Lady Ursa delivered the news personally, making it one of a handful of times that the Fire Lady visited her adopted captive in her room. Katara spent the conversation nodding mutely, swallowing a tiny kernel of hope that _just maybe_ she would be unattended enough to steal away from the caravan. At the end of the conversation, Lady Ursa had swept Katara into an embrace.

She had tried to push the woman away, begging the woman to let go. Lady Ursa relented, but she still had gripped Katara by her shoulders. “I never wanted it to be this way,” she insisted. “You must know that I thought I was offering a mercy. I thought he would stop at the bending limitation and you would be free to do as you willed in every other regard. I was a fool and you still pay the price.”

Katara was still reeling from the admission, trying to puzzle out some layer of deceit or trickery in the woman’s words. She stood on the edge of the ship’s deck, their journey only a few days old. They were travelling along the coastline of the Fire Nation, once again aboard the flagship of the navy fleet.

The reaction Katara had expected was disgust for returning to the ship. It was the same one that had taken her from her home nearly two years ago. There was a dull sense of loss lingering in the back of Katara’s mind and that was all. Her focus was currently on deciphering her feelings on the royals she was travelling in close quarters with.

Azula was an easy answer. The girl had hatred in her heart. It made her a fantastic firebender according to her tutors and Katara’s natural enemy. She doubted that even if she’d been snatched as a baby that the crown princess would resent her being there, sullying the name of the house Ozai.

Moving on to the Fire Lord himself, well, Katara hardly saw the man in person to know what he genuinely thought of her. He was the reason why she wasn’t allowed any true freedom, and he was the cause of her tribe’s decline. Katara swallowed back bile as a realization about herself forced itself to the surface.

Her first thought when considering the Fire Lord now was that of irritation at her own situation. The memory of her family and tribe’s suffering had been secondary to her own minuscule injustice. So she couldn’t learn how to wield a sword. Men and women had fought and died to try and protect their tribe’s way of life. Katara had been denied taking up a hobby while she lived as a pampered prisoner.

“You alright? You look like you’re about to get sick,” Zuko commented. He sidled up next to Katara, leaning against the railing and maintaining a careful distance away from her.

She closed her eyes and nodded, trying to calm her upset stomach. This disgust couldn’t be willed away as simply as the hatred she so regularly felt. It was directed at her own self and it was inescapable.

“Why are you out here talking to me?” she asked, ignoring his question. Of course she wasn’t alright. Katara opened her eyes again to watch the churning waves rush beneath the ship. The sea was getting choppy.

Zuko blinked. He and many others were still surprised when Katara spoke now. It was comforting that she still had an effect on them despite having rescinded her silence. “I was getting bored below deck,” he explained. “Spending time up here is more entertaining than listening to my father argue with Uncle over future military targets.”

Katara snorted. Of course that was how warlords decided the fate of those around them. Hidden away with maps and charts of their enemies.

Ears flaring a bright red, Zuko turned pointedly away. “Sorry, next time I’ll just let you be seasick by yourself,” he grumbled.

“I’m not seasick,” she retorted. “Waterbenders can’t be seasick.”

That made him look back at her. His curiosity was reignited. “Not ever? Even if you were blindfolded?” Katara lifted a shoulder, feigning aloofness. She didn’t know if it was truly impossible for a waterbender to be seasick, but it certainly made sense that she could never be. Even now meeting his gaze rather than scanning the horizon in front of them, Katara was innately aware of the ebb and flow of the waves beneath them.

“Wow,” he whispered in quiet reverence.

Katara smirked, feeling emboldened by how eagerly the young prince was eating up her prowess. She hauled herself up onto the edge of the railing, twisting to sit facing away from the water. The crashing waves sent a constant mist, soaking the back of her tunic. “I can even sit up here without falling ‘cause I can feel how the boat’s going to move,” she bragged.

Zuko scoffed at that. “You’re holding on to the edge of the railing with your hands. Anyone can do that,” he insisted. To prove his point, the young prince hopped up onto the railing, mirroring Katara’s position. He, however, sat with his heels dangling out over the open ocean.

“Nothing to it,” Zuko bragged. “Can even sit like this if I’m going to be holding on like-”

Katara would have to come up with her own insult to fill in the blank as Zuko’s taunting was cut off. The ship surged over a tumultuous series of waves, jostling anyone who was above deck. The movement, true to what she had promised, failed to upset Katara however the same could not be said for the unsuspecting prince.

Fear flashed across Zuko’s face as the ship rocked against the waves. His grip on the slick outer edge of the railing failed to hold and down he fell. Katara shrieked and lurched to take his hand. She wasn’t fast enough, however, and Zuko splashed into the ocean.

The waves surged and roared, dumping over and over across the young prince’s head. There was something about the change in the weather that had turned the water to a deep slate color. The darkness consumed the youth. Katara’s heart pounded in her throat and it was all that stopped her from screaming aloud in terror. No sound could get past the lump there.

Time felt too fast and too slow all at once as Katara watched the prince flounder and the ship continue to surge forward. There was only one course of action. It was a decision that she felt deep within her bones, an instinct, really. Katara pushed herself to her feet, standing on the slick metal railing.

Her hands came up, echoing the slow, lapping waves of a calm morning tide. It wasn’t strong enough. She closed her eyes for a moment to suck in a deep breath of salt-tinged air. Opening them once more, Katara locked on to where she could just barely make out Zuko’s flailing arms.

Drawing from every casual hope and every wistful dream that she’d locked away in her memories, Katara willed the pounding waves around her to heed her power. Pulling back with a flick of her wrists, she coaxed a small, controlled wave to draw Zuko alongside the ship once more.

Holding her breath, Katara didn’t dare stop for a moment to marvel at her success. She turned her palms to the sky and reached up to the heavens, sending a prayer to any spirits that may be listening for good measure. Tendrils of water stretched up in concert. The dragged with them the prince’s body, now stilled.

Soldiers reached down and hauled him aboard, shouting orders for a medic and Lady Ursa. Katara stumbled for the first time since she’s stood on the rail and toppled over onto the decking. “Is he okay?” she cried, terror icing her veins.

No one answered her. Someone started to press on Zuko’s chest rhythmically. Katara could sense something was wrong. He was too wet. His chest wasn’t moving on its own. There was too much water. No, that wasn’t right.

Katara narrowed her eyes and focused that fuzzy sense which she’d used to control the ocean’s waves. Water danced in response, calling for her attention. From the boy, she could feel every drop that dripped off his soaked clothes and hair. But no, that still wasn’t the source of the feeling.

Deep within his chest, there was the source. Water in his lungs. Water where precious air should have been. Katara fumbled to reach that calm mental state again where she could reason how to make her element flow. It slipped away, taking with it that indescribable sense of _knowing_.

She was powerless, watching the soldier continue to press on Zuko’s chest. If time had slowed before, it was practically stopped now. Katara watched wide-eyed for any hint that the boy could breathe.

It wasn’t subtle, the hacking cough that wracked through the young prince’s body. He practically threw himself onto his side to expel the liquid from his lungs. Katara fell again to her knees next to the prince, this time unable to look away from his face. “I’m sorry,” she wanted to say. Her lips refused to form the words and no air would leave her lungs.

Zuko coughed himself clear and finally looked around at the men and women around him. When he saw Katara kneeling in front of him, he narrowed his golden eyes. “You,” he started to say.

One of the soldiers wrapped a blanket about his shoulders. “The waterbender saved your life,” she murmured, refusing to meet Katara’s questioning gaze. “We wouldn’t have been able to rescue you as swiftly as she did, if at all.”

Zuko’s demeanor shifted immediately. He blinked once, twice. “Thank you, Katara,” he said simply.

She nodded in acknowledgement before scurrying away. The Lady had emerged from below decks and would surely want her son’s well being thoroughly examined. Katara didn’t want to be around for any further retelling of the accident, particularly when she realized that she had just saved the life of one of the very people she despised.

 


	3. Spontaneity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 prompt: Steamy
> 
> The direction that I went with this chapter was a bit different. Rather than having a literal "steamy" moment, I chose to go a bit more subtle in a sort of "oh no, he's hot" sense. My apologies for how late this chapter has been. I struggled with choosing how best to execute the age-up from the earlier chapter. If there is any confusion, by the end of this chapter Katara is about 14 and 3/4 and Zuko is well into being 15.

There was an imperceptible change in the air after the accident on the boat. Katara tried to continue the rest of the journey in the usual manner of avoiding attention, but she couldn’t seem to slip the gaze of those around her. At meals, she felt the eyes on her. They never lingered for long, but it only took another moment for a different soldier or favored guest to turn their attention to the waterbender.

It almost would have been more bearable if the change had been accompanied by attempts to speak with Katara. She remained an outcast. Zuko avoided the public events and feasts for most of the journey, encouraged to rest by his ever-attentive mother. When the ship finally began its trek back to the capital, Katara breathed a sigh of relief. Once back in the familiar halls, things were sure to return to normal. Her skin would stop crawling when she stepped on deck and the story of the prince’s near-drowning would fade to old gossip.

The Fire Lady visited Katara once more on the evening before they would return to port and begin the final leg of the journey. Katara sat cautiously on the edge of her bunk, watching the woman settle herself onto a cushion on the floor. This time Katara wasn’t going to be caught off guard by an embrace.

“I’ve spoken with my husband,” Ursa began, her hands tucked delicately into the folds of her robe. “It was… an interesting conversation.” The subtle smile on her face promised that interesting didn’t truly reflect how the conversation went.

Katara tipped her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. Lady Ursa waited patiently and didn’t speak. So, this was how things were to be. “What did you talk about?” Katara asked through clenched teeth.

The Lady’s smile widened. “Why, you my dear,” she answered as though it had been obvious.

Katara hated this exchange with every fiber of her being. The forced niceties. The way that Ursa regarded her with such familiarity as though they spoke nightly with one another. She missed being able to retreat behind her silence. But no, now that the tiger seal was out of the cave there was no going back.

“Have I done something to displease the Fire Lord? Maybe I could have been a bit less noticeable saving his son from his own idiotic decisions?” Katara spat.

The jab had no noticeable effect on Ursa. She continued to smile at the young girl with _understanding_ and _compassion._ It was nauseating. “He was pleased, actually, that you were there in that moment to help save Zuko from drowning. As was I. That allowed me to discuss with him something that had been brought to my attention from one of Azula’s teachers,” Ursa explained.

Katara stared, unblinking. This had to be some sort of trick. Why wouldn’t the Fire Lord blame her for Zuko’s accident? She had expected punishment, not praise. “I know that you expressed a desire to learn not just academics but sword work as well,” Ursa continued. “I will be speaking with Master Folah about making time to begin your training. You will be allowed to learn the ways of the blade.”

The world tipped and Katara went with it, her head landing on the bed with a _thump._ “This must be a dream,” she whispered, staring at the drapery above her bunk. The golden threads danced in the air in dizzying patterns.

Katara had to give Ursa a modicum of respect. She felt a hand touch the back of her hand and heard the Fire Lady ask her if she was alright. Other than that, the woman didn’t raise a fuss. Katara nodded and closed her eyes to try and regain her sense of balance. She had resigned herself to misery and an honor-less existence in the Fire Nation. But if she could put her time and effort into mastering something then perhaps she could dream of a future beyond the palace walls.

“It isn’t a dream, but there is a cost,” Ursa said, her voice turning bitter. Katara sat up and glared at the woman through the haze. “Please consider it a request from a mother rather than a requirement handed down from my husband. You must protect Azula and Zuko.”

“Protect them from what?” Katara laughed bitterly. “Too late of a bedtime? Falling prey to their sweet tooth?” The restriction was nothing, a hassle that would be easy to bear.

Ursa twisted her grip to take both of Katara’s hands into her own. Her focus was intent just as it had been that odd conversation before the victory tour. Katara regretted dropping her guard; she didn’t feel comfortable with the woman acting so familiar with her. “I know that I have no right to ask you this, but I must. _Please, Katara._ Protect them,” Ursa begged. “I won’t always be there to but you can be.”

Katara nodded slowly. “Alright. I swear. I’ll protect them.”

* * *

Tapping her fingers on the hilt of the practice sword, Katara sat next to the training field. She was behind in what Zuko had learned, always behind. Two and a half years of training under her belt and still she was not equal to Zuko. As such, she was delegated to practicing whenever the prince’s lessons had been completed. “When you are closer in skill then we may have you train together,” Master Folah promised. It felt empty, accompanied by a smile that never went to his eyes. There was no honor in training a captive how to fight, no matter that she tried harder than the crown prince on some days.

Late in the afternoon, the sun would be dropping behind the outer rim of rock that shielded the capital city. Katara would squint through the deepening shadows to make out the footwork she was supposed to master. Even once the torches and braziers along the walls were lit, it was difficult.

She refused to give up, however. Week by week and year by year, Katara had improved in her technique. Footwork was the easiest aspect. There was something to the steps and twists that felt second nature to the young girl. Working in the blade work in harmony with the sets was where Katara began to struggle.

“I get how to do one and the other, but not together,” she had growled to the swordsman one evening early in her training. He had laughed and said that would always be so until she accepted the sword as an extension of herself. From that moment on, Katara brought the blade with her everywhere, trying to form a connection to the length of steel.

It helped to a certain degree. Pacing the matted floor of her room, Katara would drill through the sets she’d been taught that day. Through muscle memory and sheer willpower, she drove to catch up with the prince.

This afternoon Katara focused on the prince’s drills once again. They were a window into what she would eventually be asked to learn, to a certain point. Zuko had a different path where his training accentuated the dual blades he used. Katara’s training had always been with a single blade. It was more traditional, Master Folah told her. Katara didn’t much care for tradition, but she had no significant reason to deviate from it. Her skills were improving and she was, for a few short hours a day, happy.

Zuko’s training today was on countering attacks with a single blade, which Katara could use. The retaliating move with his off-hand, well that wasn’t as transferrable. She watched the quick-fire cross steps that Zuko used to create space between himself and his opponent. They didn’t flow well with the intent of the drill, Katara reasoned. It broke up the flow of motion between parrying and retaliating as he retreated only to re-engage.

“Again,” Master Folah insisted. Zuko snarled - he was turning into a spitfire teenager as he passed his thirteenth birthday - and smacked his practice opponent’s blade too harshly with the parry. Katara giggled as the soldier reflexively jabbed at the opening the maneuver created and knocked Zuko off balance.

It wasn’t the first time that Zuko had fallen in training; everyone fell, including Master Folah. Still, his cheeks flared red and Zuko glared pointedly away from where Katara was sitting. “We’re done for the day,” he growled.

Katara lurched to her feet and readied her own weapon. She didn’t bother to watch him leave, at least not intentionally. As she moved through her first set of warm-up maneuvers, Katara caught a glimpse of the prince crouched down by the doorway. He was staring in her direction, his expression unreadable in the shadows.

She wasn’t given time to consider what his staring meant as the next time she faced that direction, Zuko was gone.

* * *

Lady Ursa’s olive branch of training still had the nasty thorns of spending time with the two royal children. Whenever they left the palace, whether it be for shopping in the Upper Ring or to visit the Fire Sages for a special lesson, Katara was to be by their side. At those times, she felt the most exposed, not in the least because they were outside of her comfort zone. Within the palace they were always under the watchful eye of the Imperial Guard. Katara didn’t have to think about her promise to the Fire Lady when there were highly trained soldiers at every corner.

In the city streets, however, there was uncontrollable chaos. Katara kept a small dagger on her belt - Master Folah had been branching her training out to include close combat defensive training with it - and made sure that neither royal were too far from her. Azula treated it as a game, testing Katara’s patience as she often tried to slip her attention and then chide her for her terrible skills.

“You’re only a year older than me anyhow,” Azula griped one afternoon as they took a carriage back to the palace. “You saved Zu-zu from drowning once and that means you’re good enough to be our bodyguard? Pah.”

Katara resisted the urge to tell the girl to complain to her mother if she didn’t like it. Fear resided in the back of her mind that if Azula - or Zuko - did just that, Katara would have her one enjoyable hobby stripped from her. Instead, she laughed off the comment.

“Well I’m not trained all the way yet,” she agreed. “And you still have other guards, too. I think-”

“I don’t care what you think,” Azula interrupted. She was staring out the window of the carriage, unamused. Katara hadn’t played her little game by getting indignant, and now the princess was sulking.

Katara smirked and looked at Zuko. He moved to stare at the roof of the carriage quickly. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he mumbled. “I don’t care that Katara comes with us places.”

Azula scoffed, turning back to shake her head in dismay at her brother. “You don’t care that someone’s following us, or you don’t care that it’s _Katara_ who’s following us?” she drawled. “There’s a difference.”

“There is _not_ ,” Zuko insisted. The tips of his ears went red and he refused to make eye contact with either girl.

Katara took pity on him. She didn’t care one way or the other what Zuko thought of her following the pair of them. It was her responsibility and she was just glad that one of them respected it. “Master Weylan could be following you around and Zuko still wouldn’t care. That’s how little he is affected by all of this,” she said with a laugh. None of the youths enjoyed their time they spent with their wide-set history teacher who wanted to drawl on eternally about the regimes of the past.

“He’s gotten over it, maybe you should, too,” Katara added.

* * *

The war dragged on. Victories were celebrated and losses mourned. Katara remained distant from the reports that Zuko poured over and Azula scoffed at. While one of the Fire Lord’s children threw himself into learning everything he could about military strategy, the other focused only on her own personal strength.

Even to Katara’s untrained eye it was apparent that Azula was a far superior firebender to her older brother. She mastered the basic techniques that her instructors taught her and devoured the intermediate lessons. Watching Azula spar was like a master course in determination.

Zuko had the same dedication to learning, but his natural talents were not in bending. His sword work progressed even as his firebending hit a plateau. When he wasn’t working in the training grounds, Zuko was shadowing his uncle in strategy meetings. The great Dragon of the West seemed a gentler hand than the Fire Lord, and even though Zuko barely rested, he was growing more confident every time that he entered the meeting chambers.

Taking advantage of Zuko’s long absences, Katara was afforded the opportunity to fully stretch herself and train in earnest with Master Folah. She was older now, nearing fifteen, and the greying trainer was finally regarding her with some respect.

“I had thought you would give up on the craft,” he had admitted at the beginning of the summer.

Katara took it as a challenge and made a deal with him that day. If she could show perfection in every training set she’d learned thus far, he would consider taking her on as an apprentice when she was of age. That had driven her motivation for the entire season and now as it approached autumn, Katara was becoming more and more anxious.

What if she couldn’t perfect the move sets? What if the whole deal was impossible to accomplish and she was working towards a foolish goal? Master Folah gave her no indication of what “perfection” meant, only that she had yet to achieve it.

“Again.” Katara didn’t even wait for the words to leave his mouth before she set herself up in the starting position. She stared down her opponent, a trainee soldier with a dulled blade twin to her own. The soldier didn’t flinch, staring down Katara with passive golden eyes.

Step, step, swipe wide, fall back. Katara’s sword buzzed when it passed through the air, not colliding with the woman’s padded jerkin. She had mis-stepped with her right foot and not properly placed herself to make the blow. The rest of the sequence was useless as the woman slapped Katara’s side with the flat of her sword.

Laughter rang out from a corner of the training yard. Katara ignored it and paced back to her starting position. _Again_. Step, step, swipe wide, fall back, kick out and twist. Get back up from the trip and move to starting positions. _Again_. Step, step, swipe too wide with a tired wrist. Don’t give up, this is all there is. Swordplay and dinner before sleep before doing it all over again.

Katara finished the set once sloppily and again with only a shuffling misstep. Master Folah grunted out mild encouragement and critiqued the misstep. Shoving her sword into her belt, Katara turned to him. “I’m not making significant progress on this today. I don’t think my head’s in the right place,” she admitted.

He lifted a fuzzy, grey eyebrow. “Will you always be in the ‘right place’ during a fight?” he pressed. “You’re free to give up the lesson, I welcome going home to my family before the sun’s set for once, but consider the why.”

Had she not been tired, Katara might have risen to the challenge. However, it was the end of the week and all she could think about was how soft her bed was compared to the sandy training ground. Waving a hand, Katara said, “I’ll take this as my first poor attitude day. I can practice the set some more on my own and get more confident on that final kick.”

Her master shrugged and departed after thanking the soldier they’d been working with. Katara also bade her farewell. There was a rotating cycle of assistants to Master Folah, none of which seemed to care that they were helping to train the captive waterbender. Interest in her had pleasantly died down over the years.

She checked her practice blade for damage and exchanged it for the sharpened one she had been permitted to wield in her protection duties. Katara was about to leave for her room when a dark-haired shadow emerged from under the awning. “Having issues with your set?” Prince Zuko asked, a wry smile on his face.

Katara mirrored his smug expression and leaned against the weapons rack. “Just stuck in a rut. I think I need to clear my head. Overthinking is my downfall,” she replied. Zuko had never commented on her fighting abilities before. Katara wasn’t certain why he would now.

“You hate that practice sword,” he stated with a shrug.

“Who doesn’t? They’re clunky and never as balanced as an actual blade,” Katara bit back.

Zuko’s smirk widened. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. The prince approached her and Katara tipped her head.

“What?” she asked. He had a glint in his eye. “You’re in a good mood.”

He nodded eagerly. “I’ve got good reason to. There’s been talk of great things in my future,” he said.

Katara waited to say anything. She didn’t need to coax him to explain further when he was this excited. The last time she’d seen him this animated was when they had snuck out - under Katara’s watchful eye - to go to the Ho'Wan carnival while it was in town. Zuko had that same bounce in his step that he’d had that evening.

“They want to give me my own command,” he blurted out. “A ship. A squadron of my own. Marching orders.”

The air turned to ice and Katara’s smile faded. “You’re going to war?” she murmured. Every ounce of her being screamed out. Zuko _couldn’t_ leave the palace, least of all to join the men and women on the front. He would be too far away for her pledge. Katara’s stomach dropped. If she left the palace to follow him, she would have to protect him from Earth Nation troops.

She would have to pick a side.

Bile rose in Katara’s throat. She closed her eyes and focused on her meditation techniques to calm the storm inside of her. She heard Zuko’s reply but the words drifted in and out her ears without understanding. “I’m sorry, you have to give me a second,” she whispered. The weapons rack became her anchor and she clung to it, her knuckles white.

When Katara opened her eyes, she saw the confusion alight in Zuko’s expression. His excitement was gone. “I said ‘not right away.’ It’s not official and I’ve only heard rumors through Uncle,” he explained dully. “I thought… never mind. I should have realized otherwise.”

The wave of emotions eased off. Zuko wasn’t leaving now. It wasn’t official. Katara didn’t have to go to war. She could remain at the palace for a while yet, safe and happy and impartial.

She forced her cocky smile to return and moved to punch Zuko in the arm, all in good fun of course. “Don’t freak me out like that. I haven’t figured out how to split myself in two yet,” she joked.

Zuko’s shoulders relaxed and he rubbed his arm. “Damn Katara, that hurt,” he joked. “We need to get you a different hobby so you don’t kill Azula and me by accident.”

Katara barked out a laugh. “If I’m going to kill either of you, it will be entirely on purpose,” she said. Zuko raised an eyebrow at her threat and Katara’s stomach did another tiny flip.

“You think you could take me?” he said with a growl. “Go on and try!” He drew his broadswords, separating the pair in a smooth motion.

Katara bared her teeth in a feral grin. Now _this_ was sparring. Her hand went to the practice weapons behind her, but Zuko made a _tct_ noise, shaking his head. So they were throwing caution into the wind, then. Katara drew her own weapon, hefting the double-edged sword in her hand. It was heavier than the practice version and the grip was more suited to her hand.

“Last chance to back out,” she warned Zuko as they began to circle one another. All her years of observing the prince were about to be tested.

He broke the cycle first, diving to the side to slash at where Katara was about to step. She leapt over the low strike, her own weapon guarding for the inevitable follow through with Zuko’s second sword. When their blades clashed, Katara pushed forward and spun, smacking the flat of her sword against his next blow.

She was on the defensive, darting and dancing to avoid the rapid-fire blows that he was able to execute with the pair of blades. Each parry and riposte was met with equal force and ferocity as they tested one another’s abilities.

“You have more stamina than I would have thought for your frame,” Zuko huffed when they broke apart. They circled one another again, eyes darting to find the next weakness that would give them the advantage.

Katara didn’t waste her breath replying, exhaling as she crossed the distance once again. Zuko swung randomly to disrupt her plan and Katara ducked to avoid the blow. Her legs coiled, Katara shoved off into an arcing leap. Her intention was to land behind Zuko and strike him there, but he was already moving, guarding, darting in for the offensive.

It was a deadly dance. Katara’s heart pounded in her chest and the world around her felt more crisp and _alive_ than it ever had. She fought to match Zuko’s every move, attacking when he was exposed and falling back when he retaliated. Pride dictated that she not lose.

She had already been sweating before they’d begun and now Katara felt miserably warm. Zuko was breathing heavily, too, his forehead slick. She took too long to consider his sweat-streaked brow and was forced on the defensive. Step, step, swipe wide, fall back to defend. Kick out an ankle to catch Zuko on his, twist to bring him down to one knee. Katara darted in and kicked one twin blade out of his grasp.

Her own blade danced in front of his throat. Katara let the tip rest there for a moment, pressed against his flesh as he swallowed heavily. “Alright,” Zuko breathed. “You were right.”

Katara smirked and took her sword away from his throat. “I told you I could kill you,” she gloated. “Not that I would want to.”

Zuko took her extended hand and she pulled him up. He shook his head, which irked Katara. She _was_ right. “Not what I meant,” he panted. He rubbed at his forehead with the heel of the hand still holding a sword. Spirits above, Katara could feel how heat emanated from him at so small a distance.

She let go of his other hand with a jerk and stepped away. It felt… wrong to stand so close. Zuko’s expression fell slightly before he, too, moved. He collected his other sword and sheathed both silently.

“Katara,” he said quietly. She looked at him expectantly. Twisting to study the area around him, Zuko didn’t immediately continue. Only when he studied every corner of the training grounds did he approach her once again.

Katara tried to step away when once again he entered that bubble of “too close” space, but he followed her and gently touched one of her shoulders. “You have talent,” he murmured, his voice barely carrying between their two huddled heads. “You shouldn’t waste it just on broadswords.”

What was he going on about? There wasn’t anything else _to_ “waste” her time on. She hadn’t even mastered this skill yet. Katara was about to pull away from his grip when he said something that froze her in place.

“I want to teach you what I know about bending so that you can waterbend for real,” Zuko whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I threw in a lowkey reference to one of my all-time favorite classic Zutara fics by Vicki So - [The Ho'Wan Island Carnival](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2653834/1/The-Ho-Wan-Island-Carnival). It's the first in a trilogy and it's an amazing ride.


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